Parenthood
by accelerator 231
Summary: Always, in a story of young people and their epic adventures, there is always someone that is missed out. Someone not mentioned. Someone not spoken of. Someone, who is always missing. This is about that someone.


It was the eyes that got her notice when they met, in the cool air of the office.

She had heard of 'Argent Silver'. The girl who won the badge for dead men. Leader of the 203rd Mage battalion, Knight and top of her class. Apostle of God. Pioneer of the newest strategies and tactics. A savant of warfare, and a dutiful patriotic soldier of the Empire. Each time she saw a propaganda poster featuring her, or that odd newsreel, she had stroked the side of her head, passing through the braids. Something stirred, beneath her consciousness. Something hidden.

It was the eyes that finally got her notice.

Then, today, she realized. She looked, and now, she truly looked. At the face, in person, free of makeup. The wide-open mouth and eyes. Those were his eyes.

"How many years has it been? A decade? Since he had left for those cursed battlefields. She remembered the letter, and the dreaded feeling in her belly. She couldn't keep her. She could never keep her. Her parents would disown her, her marriage prospects would be ruined, and she had neither job nor patron. Where would that leave her? Turned out into the streets, with a child to care of? So that both may starve to death, frozen in the winter winds? No. What does she owe a dead man and his child, who didn't even come home alive? Nothing.

She took a sabbatical. "Visiting some relatives in the countryside." She said, waving to her parents and neighbours. Her mother knew. There was that look in her eye. She knew.

She gave the girl to a nun. She had shown her face, eschewing the use of a hood or cloak. The girl deserved this much, at least. The look of the nun, was apologetic and knowing. It seems that this had happened often enough that she knew it when she saw it. The nuns were good people, weren't they? Little one would be well taken care of. She had already started crying. Clumsily, on the train ride, she had tried nursing her, trying to ignore the judgemental stares from her fellow passengers. Already, there was a crop of blonde hair, and blue eyes.

She hurried away from the orphanage as if it was cursed, braving the biting, chilling winds of Autumn. And in a way, it was. She swore she would never go to that place again.

For weeks, she had twisted and turned, haunted by bad dreams. Was the girl dead? Had she lived? Had she starved to death on that porch? Is she now running around, with other children, a giant smile on her face? Had consumption and disease taken her, as it is wont to slay children?

She dreamt. Of taking the girl back, of picking up her daughter and taking her back home. Ignoring the condemnations and judgement of her parents. Ignoring the gossip and scandal amongst her neighbours. Of being able to marry a man despite having a daughter out of wedlock, or... dare she? Earning enough money that she did not need any man. Of having her little girl growing up beneath her watch. But all dreams end, and she woke up, clutching the sheets, sitting upright, gasping, cold sweat, sending chills across her body.

I'm such a coward.

Five years passed. A man, she found. One who loved her, and for awhile, she forgot the first. First, was the meeting. The first talk. The friendship. Then the courtship. Then the wedding. Then, her belly swelled, as she thought of her old child. She wondered, if she was healthy now. Has she already met her first crush? Perhaps. Then he son was born, and then

Then came the cough. The chill. Then silence. Two graves. And an empty house. A far too cold bed.

This must be divine punishment.

Her parents were gone, now. A fire, they said. Mother was getting on in years, and she was getting forgetful in her old age. She must have forgotten to put out the light, and it caught on the curtains. There was nothing left, now. The insurance, was enough to leave her with enough for the rest of her life. But what life? There was nothing left. The neighbours did not talk to her. Or maybe she did not talk to them.

Does it matter?

Is there anything left?

In fact, to her great surprise, there was. Perhaps god was merciful, even to a wretched woman like her.

She met him, when she had gone out to buy groceries. Tripping on her own feet, she had dropped the bag by accident and spilled the apples and oranges. Stooping to pick it up, she found herself before a pair of military boots. Looking up, it was a military officer, hair combed and with bespectacled eyes. Smiling shyly, he bent down, and helped pick them up.

And like a true gentlemen, he had asked of he could walk her back to her apartment. And to their great surprise, they were neighbours! He had recently moved in, after being promoted. Saying goodbye, he told her she could rely on him if she needed anything.

It started off slowly. Friendly waves and 'good mornings' in the hallways. Small, unseen smiles, and a nod of welcome. Then it grew. Small gifts. Tokens, gifts, cards, sweets. He ate them, and returned the favour. They began to talk. Authors, great novel series. Parts of philosophy. The war. How it started, how it broke men, and how it assisted the empire. Mages, the academy.. everything. It felt like a breathe of fresh air. Like stepping outside, after being trapped in a poorly-aired, dusty chamber. Perhaps the old poets were right. She had shut herself away, pinining away under guilt and grief.

And in doing so, had sickened her soul, making her apathetic and depressed, without the willpower to pull herself out of the lurch. Except for him. The soldier. He may have saved lives. But he saved her spirit.

Once, she asked his name. And he had answered. She hadn't called him that yet. It would be too familiar. A next step in their relationship beyond cordialness and polite neighbours. Not yet. But soon.

She was familiar with the protocols for visitors and civilians entering the army base. A nod and a smile to the guard, and she was off. In her hand, was a package of food that she cooked that afternoon. It was harder than she thought. She had not truly cooked in years, and she wondered if she would be ok with this. Would he dislike it? Would he ask for more? She had tasted it, but so far, she had long since lost her appetite since their deaths...

She entered his office. He was hard at work now, signing off papers and reading through forms. His eyes widened when he saw her. Her heart fluttered, and she smiled. She wondered if this would happen every time she surprised him. She should do this more often. She walked into the office, and ignored the chattering of the secretary behind her as the door closed.

"Sarah? Why are you-?" She held up the bundle. "I brought lunch. And I was lonely. So I came to visit you. How's work?" She smiled again, and placed the bundle on his table. She looked at him, and started leaning over. "Oh, handsome military officer. Won't you allow this helpless little maiden to service you for once? I'm fairly sure that you have the strength for it, and this maiden is willing?" He started to move back, face slightly flushed and eyes wide. Ah, this was fun. She should get out more often and do this.

There was a commotion behind her. Sarah paid them no mind. They were alone now, and nothing would interrupt this perfect moment. She could already see it happening. Candlelight dinners. Walks in the park. Gardens. Lunches. Trips to the library. She could see it now. She had wallowed in sorrow for too long. Time for the sweetness. A new life.

Then the door swung open. And in came a little girl, to the shouts of the secretary. "I humbly apologise, Lieutenant Rerugen. But this is important news. High Command has-" Then she looked up, and saw her.

It was like looking into a mirror. How many times had she looked into the mirror, half-asleep in the morning, bags under her eyes and hair untidy? How many times had she looked back upon herself, cursing herself for one reason or another. How many times had she dreamt, of his beautiful blue eyes? How many times had she thought of the little girl left on the porch, and thought of how she looked like growing up? How many times had she used her own appearance as a basis? How many times had she thought of this meeting?

This was not how she had imagined it.

With a cry, looking upon a face that was far too much like her own, Sarah let the darkness take her.


End file.
